


I'll Be Your Soldier

by rubygirl29



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton has always been a loner. It might be time to rethink that, but is he ready to be a super hero?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Your Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [james](https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/gifts).



> **Author's Note** : For James, who needs some wishes granted. _"I have a huge THING for Clint feeling not good enough to be an Avenger. I'd like to see something where Coulson is trying to convince him he is, but that it doesn't really sink in until one (or more) of the other Avengers tells him so, or shows him, or what have you. "_

_Where did all the people go?  
they got scared when the lights went low.  
I get you through it nice and slow,  
when the world's spinning out of control._

 

Clint is on the rooftop of a building in Chechnya when the call comes from Coulson. "Barton, come in." Phil's voice is calm as always. 

"Sir, give me one minute." 

"One minute. No more."

"Won't take that long." Clint turns off the headset. He draws a bead on the man in the alley below him. The creep is about to beat a small girl into the ground because she refused to service a client. Clint feels sick and wishes he could shoot him in the balls and let him bleed out, but he doesn't want to freak the child out more than she already is. So he breathes lightly, calms his pulse and sends an unerring arrow through the man's beating heart. Natasha pulls the girl away, shielding her face from the body and passing her on to a woman wearing a burka. She looks up at Clint and nods. He motions up with his thumb as the chopper swoops down on the rooftop behind him. 

He feels like a hero for about five minutes before he remembers that he's just a carny with good aim who somehow landed on his feet on the side of the good guys. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
It's pouring rain and Clint is up in the bucket of a cherry picker taking aim at one of the biggest men he's ever seen. The jerk broke into a restricted area and seems intent on putting down every guard in his path to the object in the center of the maze of plastic tunnels and monitoring equipment. The guy fights with a grace and power that is beautiful to see even through the brutality of combat. He's good, really good -- focused and strong, but orders are orders and Clint trusts Coulson to make the right call. He draws back on the bow, even as he blinks the rain from his eyes. 

"Call it Coulson, because I'm beginning to root for this guy."

There is a pause. "Wait I want to see this," Coulson's voice is calm as ever, but there is an undercurrent of curiosity and excitement that hums through the earpiece. 

Clint relaxes the tension in his bow fractionally and watches. Muscles bunch and strain in agony; he can't hear, but the despair is clear in the man's face, in the howl of rage he sends to the heavens. Clint shivers, and not from cold as he watches the man fall to his knees; a god who is just a mortal after all. 

"Show's over, Barton. Come in." Coulson's voice is disappointed, weary. Clint can almost feel it in his bones as he rides the bucket down and head to the trailer for a hot shower and coffee. He doesn't know that his life just took a hard left turn.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Two weeks later, Coulson calls him to his office in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Nick Fury is there with Maria Hill, and Phil is looking startled and smug at the same time. "You know Director Fury and AD Hill, Agent Barton."

Barely, but he acknowledges them politely for Phil's sake. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all." Fury looks like at him like semi-benevolent Cyclops. "We have an interesting proposition for you."

Clint is about to say he's not that kind of girl, but something in Coulson's expression keeps him respectful. "Yes, sir?"

"There are a few people I would like you to meet." _People_ being the operative word. 

Thor is a god, Tony Stark is Iron Man, Captain America is a super-soldier, Dr. Bruce Banner is ... well, able to transform into his own personal WMD. Clint is having a crisis of confidence. He's just a plain old vanilla mortal with good eyesight and a certain skill with a bow and a gun. He's not even sure he could beat Natasha Romanoff in a fair fight. 

Coulson wants him on his team of superheroes. Where Coulson goes, Clint follows, even with his doubts trailing behind him like ghosts. He doesn't acknowledge them; he goes to the range and starts practicing.

Four hours later, his muscles are quivering with strain and his fatigues are soaked with sweat. His eyes are burning and his head hurts. He's exhausted, dehydrated and not even the scatter of splintered arrows littering the floor has convinced him that he will fit in with this team. He's always been more of a loner wolf. 

He drops to the floor, his bow across his knees. He's too weary to crawl. He closes his eyes. 

"Barton? What are you doing?"

 _Coulson. Great._ "Sitting here, taking a break."

"It looks more like you're the thing that's broken." A chilly bottle nudges his cheek. "Here. You look ghastly."

"Oh, you sweet talker." Clint takes the bottle and holds it against his throbbing forehead. A cool towel is draped across the back of his neck. He wasn't even aware that Coulson had moved. He drains the bottle in one long series of swallows. Coulson presses another one into his hand. Clint sips this one. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. I don't suppose you care to talk about it."

"About what?"

"This." Coulson is crouched next to him, fingers deft on the leather guards on his palm and forearm. He pulls the armor off and drops it on the floor. It lands on the tile with a wet slap. "Barton, go to medical and get wrapped."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're bleeding." Coulson sighs. "That's an order. Then come to see me in my office. We need to talk."

Clint looks at his raw fingers and forearm. Not sweat. _Fuck_. He's not stupid. He doesn't need an infection. As it is, he'll be out of commission for a few days. He doesn't look at Coulson, and misses the concern in his eyes. He can't even change his clothes. He sighs. "Yes, sir."

An hour later, bandaged and showered, he pauses at Coulson's door. Phil is writing, shielding his eyes from the glare of his desk lamp. He looks weary and pale. His tie is even loose, which for Coulson is like being half-naked in public -- which makes Clint blush. _Crap_. He knocks, waits for Phil to finish writing and gesture him inside. 

Coulson motions to him, but continues writing for a moment before he stops and sets his pen down; every movement concise and neat. He pushes a bottle of water over to Clint. "So, Barton, care to elaborate why you were beating yourself up."

"I wasn't beating myself up. I was practicing."

"You practiced yourself right into medical. That's new."

"I lost track of time."

Coulson gets a look in his eyes. "Clint. Truth."

"The new team. _The Avengers_? Gods, billionaire inventors, super soldiers from WWII, a guy who turns into a not-so-jolly Green Giant. I mean, seriously?"

"And Agent Romanoff?" Coulson's eyes glint with laughter. He knows the answer, but Clint humors him. 

"Tasha is a force unto herself." Clint smiles slightly for the first time. "And she could take me down in the blink of an eye if she wanted to."

Coulson nods. "That's a fair assessment."

"Where do I fit in?" Clint asks. "I'm just a two-bit carny with good eyesight and a gift for killing."

"You're Everyman. The human quotient."

"I'm a greasy spot on the pavement," Clint gives a weary laugh. 

"Don't underestimate yourself, Barton. Give it a chance."

Clint is too tired to argue. "Sure thing, sir. I'll give it my best shot."

"In that case, I have no doubts that you will be fine."

^*^*^*^*^*

Clint decides to make the best of it, but he can't do it alone. He figures there is just a human under Iron Man's gleaming armor. He finds Tony Stark in the S.H.I.E.LD. laboratory soldering a circuit board. It is intricate, delicate work and Stark's focus is intense. Clint is about to back off when Stark looks up. He pushes his goggles up to his forehead. "Do you need something?"

"Got a question."

"Okay." Tony folds his arms and leans back in his chair. "Shoot." Then realizing that he is speaking to a sniper, he recants. "Or don't."

Clint shrugs. "I'm not armed at the moment." 

"So?"

"I have this bow ... right. And I'm good with it, no question. But I could be better. _It_ could be better."

"Bring it in. Antique weaponry intrigues me."

Clint laughs. "Antique it ain't." It was the best money could buy, but he had tweaked the hell out of it and it still wasn't right. "Tomorrow?"

"Do you have a hot date tonight?"

"Only with you."

"Bring beer." Stark flips his goggles down and turns back to his circuit board.

Clint returns with his bow, arrows and beer. Stark nods. "Show me how you shoot." When Clint reaches behind him, Stark says, "Stop." He does a quick sketch. He shows Clint a quiver that looks like the chamber of a pistol. "You reach behind, take an arrow from the quiver, it chambers the next shaft. Got it?"

"I like it. What about the arrows?" He hands one to Stark. 

"This will take more time. Can I keep this one?"

"Yeah."

"I always thought shooting explosive arrows would be very cool."

"The problem is that any explosive charge would throw the arrow off-balance in flight -- make it go all wonky."

"As the saying goes, I've got an app for that. Leave me two arrows."

Clint hands him the quiver. "You'll probably need more."

"Maybe." Stark gives him a rare, genuine smile. "If you leave your bow I'll do something even more spectacular."

It's a high-end bow, not one of Clint's precious recurves that he babies and coddles. He hands it over. "It's not my favorite."

"When I'm done, it will be," Tony promises. 

For the first time, Clint feels like one of the team, not the odd man out.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

While he waits for Tony, he works out, upping his hours at the gym, sparring with anybody who is hanging around, any unsuspecting S.H.I.E.L.D. rookie, any of the spec ops soldiers who haunted the facility hoping for a glimpse of Captain America. He misses Natasha, but she is with Coulson somewhere in Bulgaria following s war criminal. 

He lifts weights and goes for half-marathon runs. He cuts junk food out of his diet and increases his protein and calorie intake to keep up his weight and strength. 

It is a long two weeks. Coulson returns without Natasha. She's taking time off in Paris with Pepper Potts, he explains. The idea of Natasha and Pepper having a girls weekend is somewhat alarming. Clint goes down to the gym to work out just in case he needs to make a quick run to save Paris from Natasha.

Coulson calls and tells him to come up to R&D. Clint unwraps his hands, splashes cold water on his face and hair, towels off and puts on cargo pants and a tee shirt. Coulson is with Tony. On the table between them is the most beautiful, elegant and deadly bow Clint has ever seen. He doesn't look at Coulson or Tony. He picks up the bow. The balance is phenomenal. It's light and it fits his hand instantly. Tony has shaped a recurve with the power and strength of a compound bow. When he raises the bow, the laser sight is aligned perfectly with his eye level. 

There are arrows on the table. Not like the ones Clint had given to Tony; these were gleaming metal, fletched with what looked like feathers, but felt like Kevlar. Like the bow, the balance is perfect. 

"Not explosive?" he asks, half joking.

"Not these ... but they can be." Tony unscrews the tip, revealing a hollow space in the shaft. "I've developed an chemical explosive contained in ceramic beads. When the arrow hits the target, the beads shatter, the explosive ignites and _Boom!_ "

"Sweet." Clint smiles at Coulson. He turns to Tony. "This is awesome. Thank you."

"Hey, underneath that suit, I'm just a man, too. A fabulously wealthy, extraordinarily attractive and extremely brilliant man, but just a man." He hands Clint the quiver. Smirks at Coulson. "Don't worry, sir. None of them are armed."

"That's good to know, Mr. Stark." He can see Clint nearly vibrating with impatience. "Shall we go down to the range, Agent Barton?"

"Hell, yeah." He picks up the quiver, the arrows and lopes down to the range. He shoots for half an hour, and every arrow flies true. The bow sings in this hands, is easy to draw, smooth to release. When the last arrow pierces the heart of the target, Clint sighs and lowers the bow. He wants to kiss it. Conscious of Coulson's presence, he retrieves the arrows. The kevlar fletching is undamaged, the shafts are straight and true.

"Come to my office, Barton. I'd like an evaluation of the design changes." There is a flicker of heat and danger in his calm eyes. 

"Yes, sir." Clint stows the bow and quiver, locks them up safely. As much as he hates to admit it, Stark is right. This is now his favorite bow. He wonders if Tony would modify the other ones to match. He wonders what the bribe will have to be. Maybe Cap can talk to Tony about the good of the team. 

He finds Coulson sitting at his desk, his eyes scrolling through screens of text. His glances up at Clint, gestures to keep him silent for a moment longer, then finally clicks on a button and sits back in his chair. 

"You look tired," Clint observes.

"And you look ... ripped." Phil's gaze is lingering on is arms and chest. 

"I've been working out. I figure if I'm going to stay useful, I have to be a weapon."

"You already are," Phil says softly. "Hand-picked."

"Did you tell Stark to help me?"

"No. I didn't think you needed any help to keep up with the others. You were chosen and accepted into the initiative because you are as unique as they are."

Clint has never considered himself to be unique, not even when billed as the 'World Greatest Marksman,' which was just a circus moniker after all. "Right. That's me. One of a kind." He stood wearily. "I'm turning in. It's been a long day."

Coulson looks wistful, as if sitting at this desk is just a little more than he can bear, even though he'll do it. Clint takes a breath, takes a chance. "Want to get some coffee? The shop across the street is open 24/7."

"Coffee, yes." Coulson pushes away from the desk. "But not there."

"Where?"

"Follow me," Coulson says. They leave the office and Coulson takes the elevator to Tony Stark's private offices. Phil knocks -- an old-fashioned courtesy when all he had to do was tell JARVIS he was there. To Clint's surprise, Steve Rogers answers the door. The lights are dim, but there is a movie playing on the huge TV screen and Thor is leaning towards it intently. Stark is doing something on one of his many devices; but he looks up and raises a brow.

"Is the world ending?" he asks. 

Coulson gives him a wry half-smile. "I wanted some coffee."

"Ah. JARVIS, brew coffee."

"Yes, sir."

The coffee is perfect. Thor pushes a bunch of comic books aside and makes room on the sofa. Steve tells Tony to put down the damn gadget and come watch the movie. "I've seen _Star Wars,_ " Tony grumbles, but he joins them on the other end of the sectional. 

Clint settles into the deep cushions and Phil sits down, a bit stiffly at first, but as the warm of the coffee relaxes him and the long day takes its toll, he slouches down next to Clint. Clint stretches out his arm along the back of the sofa and wonders if this was Phil's plan all along. He doesn't feel like an outsider, like something less than the others. He feels like he's sitting with friends; a luxury he never expected to have. 

It's good to be part of a team, but will it translate to the field? Can he keep up? Can he contribute? He shoves that worry aside as Coulson's head falls against his arm. He may not be a god or a super soldier, but he's man enough to guard Coulson when he's vulnerable.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

It had been a hard-fought battle with Loki's forces. Cars smashed, building damaged, citizens terrorized; a city in disarray. They thought it was over. Ironman, Thor, Captain America, the Hulk ... all are dust covered, dented, bloody when they gather on the streets. Loki's advance forces were defeated, but it had been at a cost. Clint is bleeding and bruised, his leathers are dusty and scored by debris. He looks around. Something about this picture is wrong. Before he can pinpoint what is missing, Phil's voice is in his ear.

"Barton, I need eyes." Coulson's tone is cool, but Clint is picking up an undercurrent of urgency. 

"Where?"

"Up high, building on the northeast corner." 

"Umm. Sure. But why?"

"Because the building is about to come down and I can't risk lightning bolts, explosions or Hulk."

"Gee, that makes me feel so special, Coulson." 

"Clint, it's _Natasha_ ," he says, knowing of their past history. "She's cornered by Loki's agents and she's injured her ankle. You're the only one who can do this."

"Right." Clint looks up and sees Iron Man, the faceplate raised to reveal Tony Stark's pale face. "I need a lift," is all he says. The faceplate comes down and the human is a once again a super hero. He holds out his hand to Clint. "Let's get our girl."

Clint grins. "Your suit better have a cast iron jock strap if Natasha ever hears about that, "  
Stark's laughter is startling in Clint's earpiece as they fly up to the top of the building. He deposits Clint gently on the surface and flies off. "I'm here, Coulson."

"Agent Romanov is on the northeast quadrant. Barton, there's another wave of Loki's forces on the way. I need the others. You're on your own."

"Got it." He drops down and crawls to the edge of the building. Five stories below him, a small group of figures, only one with hair the color of blood and fire. Natasha is struggling against three men, twice her size, who are immobilizing her while a third man holds a knife dangerously close to her face. They must have tazed Natasha for her to be so weak. Clint draws his bow, paints the man with his laser and looses an arrow that strikes him through the knee, severing his hamstring. He goes down hard, writhing on the ground. 

The two men holding Natasha look up. One receives an arrow through his eye. Natasha takes down the other one with a hit that shoves his splintered nasal bones into his brain. She looks up, sees Clint silhouetted against the sky, and give him a thumbs up as three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rush into the alley. Clint watches as Natasha lets them help her limp to the waiting ambulance. 

In the distance, Clint can hear the sporadic explosions and gunfire as the fight winds down. Loki apparently assumed that the Avengers would be too pre-occupied with rescuing Natasha to pay attention to his last offensive. Clint can't help feeling satisfied that they proved him wrong. He takes a slightly more conventional way down from the roof, riding the fire escape ladders down. 

Coulson is waiting there, his arms folded, leaning against a brick wall. "Nice work, Agent Barton."

"Thank you." Clint looks over Coulson's shoulder to the ambulance. "How's Natasha?"

"She probably has a broken ankle.

"She'll hate that." 

Coulson gives him an odd, half-smile. "Let's find the team."

It doesn't take long. Fury tells them they will have an official debrief in an hour. Clint is bone tired and aching. He decides there are things he has to do that are more important  
than a debrief session.

First, he visits Natasha. He finds her sleeping with her ankle in a cast. Even Black Widow can't fight against pain and good drugs. Clint brushes back a strand of red hair from her forehead, and leaves reluctantly. She understands him, his ambivalence and his humanity. He goes to the gym and showers away the grime, dust and blood, some of it his, and picks up two large coffees from the commissary. 

He is heading towards the conference room when Dr. Banner emerges from his lab. "How is Agent Romanov?" he asks. He looks smaller in his loose everyday clothing and his glasses. Not at all like the Hulk. 

Just as Clint, in his jeans and tee shirt, doesn't seem to have a lot in common with Hawkeye. Or Tony, with Iron Man, or Steve with Captain America. Or even Thor, the man with the infectious grin, with Thor, the god of Asgard. Beneath the rage, the iron, the leather, the eye-catching costumes of super soldier and demigod, they are just men. Flesh and blood and very fragile. 

That, Clint can identify with, bond with. "She's fine," he finally answers Banner's question. "She will be fine."

"You're all right?"

"Yeah, I think so. We're late for debrief." He starts down the hall. He hears Banner muttering something about needing his iPad. Clint keeps on walking. He isn't a big fan of debriefings, but since they're SOP and Phil has tormented him with paperwork when he doesn't attend -- unless he is in Medical -- which has led Phil to speculate that Clint flings himself off buildings just to avoid the mandatory meetings. He doesn't, but in general, he'd rather go to the dentist than sit in the conference room going over things that went right, or wrong; congratulatory on one hand and excoriating on the other, but basically meaningless. His time would be better spent working out or on the range. 

Phil is waiting outside his office. He knows Clint will walk past on his way to the conference room. Clint pauses. "I don't feel so bad about being late, now."

Phil gives him one of his half smiles. "They can't start the meeting without me." He lifts a folder. "Walk with me?"

"I could think of worse people to walk with." 

"That was good work out there -- as good, if not better, than any other Avenger could have done."

"Natasha would have done the same for me."

"So would have all of them," Phil says. His fingers brush lightly across Clint's wrist and it's the closest gesture to a caress that Clint could imagine. They don't talk about it, this _thing_ they have that is between trusting friendship and something deeper and immutable. 

Phil opened the door to the conference room. Stark, Cap, Thor and Bruce are there, and it is Tony who starts a slow clap until there is applause. Clint's face is hot and even though he tries to hide his pleasure behind his embarrassment, he doesn't quite succeed. 

He looks at Coulson. Phil is smiling that warm, gentle smile that he sees so rarely. Clint works alone, he always has. He thought it was by choice. Maybe now it's time to make a different choice.

He is an Avenger. 

**The End ******


End file.
